


Day 5: alternate universe+realization/confession

by readbetweenthelions



Series: Yakulev Week [5]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 21:54:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2166546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readbetweenthelions/pseuds/readbetweenthelions





	Day 5: alternate universe+realization/confession

The beat is steady, and it’s one Yaku knows well.

He’s played it hundreds of times, this drum line. It’s from their single, the one that’s been all over the radio lately, the one they play each night in concert and the one he and Kuroo wrote together. His hands and wrists and arms move on instinct when he plays this now. It frees up a little bit of space in his head to look up and observe the stage in front of him.

Kuroo is growling lyrics into the microphone, tipping the mic stand low and bending over as he sings, a flashy habit he’s had since before they even really started this band in any serious way. Kuroo’s a perfect front man, really. He has the instinct for it in a way Yaku never did, though Yaku’s own singing voice isn’t that bad. Kuroo is all show business, all wild gestures and dancing and smooth transitions.

To Yaku’s left, Yamamoto thrashes hard at his guitar. That’s another person with a sense of theatrics Yaku doesn’t have – Yamamoto plays rhythm guitar, there’s no reason for him to go as all-out as he does, but he does it every single night anyway. Legs spread far apart, Yamamoto bangs his head to the beat, a broad, savage grin on his face.

Kenma hangs back near Yaku’s drum set just to Yaku’s right. His bass is slung low in front of his hips and he leans his head forward, hiding his face in a curtain of hair. Again, this is typical. Kenma is shy, doesn’t particularly like being on stage and doesn’t like the way girls and boys alike flock around them when they leave show venues, doesn’t like the interviews and the photos taken of them and the crowds of screeching fans at concerts. Kenma, in short, doesn’t like being famous. It’s been a little rough on him, their band suddenly gaining popularity like they have. There’s no way he’d quit, though. Kenma loves playing music and loves being with the band too much. Besides, the bass lines Kenma has written and plays at every concert have become somewhat of a trademark of their band. So at concerts, Kenma hangs back near Yaku for safety and keeps his head down.

And then there’s Lev. Lev plays lead guitar, and he does it with enthusiasm that is staggering. Just now he’s got his foot up on one of the amps at the front of the stage, long leg bent at the knee, looking out at the crowd with an expression that Yaku can’t see but is sure is exhilarated and gleeful. Lev loves crowds, loves being watched. Second only to Kuroo, Lev gets up to the most extravagant performances on stage.

As if he can sense Yaku’s thoughts, Lev turns away from the front of the stage and the mass of people calling lyrics back at Kuroo. He makes a beeline directly for Yaku. For some reason, it seems like Yaku has been Lev’s target more and more often lately. Lev crosses the stage diagonally, from front right to back middle, passing in front of Kenma to stand close to Yaku’s drum set. Kenma kicks the cord attached to Lev’s guitar away from his feet with a scowl, having been tripped up in that cord more than one time and now wary of its movement. Lev’s guitar always sits entirely too low on him, though whether it’s a stylistic choice or simply a necessity to accommodate his long limbs, Yaku has never been sure.

With a grin, Lev puts a foot up on Yaku’s kick drum. Yaku scowls at him. How many times has he told Lev not to do that? A month or two ago, Lev had knocked over a cymbal and a snare drum during a song doing just this exact thing. Yaku had picked them both up quickly and gotten back to playing as soon as he could, because _the show must go on_ or whatever, but after the concert Yaku had told Lev off for a full five minutes. Either Lev doesn’t remember or he’s ignoring that conversation, because here he is, with his foot on Yaku’s drums, and strumming energetically at his guitar with a wicked look on his face.

Lev’s face is turned away from the audience, looking down at Yaku. Yaku looks up at him. He’s infuriatingly tall, and it only pisses Yaku off more when Yaku is sitting and Lev is standing and towering over him more than usual, like he is now. Lev grins, and winks, and Yaku considers reaching out a drumstick and smacking Lev’s shin with it, but that might throw off his own rhythm and he can’t have that. Yaku plays his drum line without interruption, but he can’t stop himself from watching Lev.

Lev leans his head back and shuts his eyes, savoring the moment. Lev never gets enough of this, of all this rock star shit. Yaku’s eyes trace the long, exposed line of Lev’s neck. The lighting for this song is just stable enough that Yaku can watch the way Lev’s muscles flex in his arms while he plays. His hair sticks to his face with sweat that comes from exertion and the damp, hot atmosphere of concert halls, but Lev makes no move to push it away or even flick it out of his face. A glance just past Lev reveals that Kuroo is doing the opposite, currently engaged in that habit he has of pushing his hair back away from his face when he sings even though he knows it’s just going to flop back down again as soon as he takes his hand away. Above him, Lev looks joyous and attractive, tall and glistening in sweat and with a blissful look on the profile of his features that Yaku has always secretly admired. Yaku shakes his head to clear it. He shouldn’t think about Lev that way, and certainly not while they’re trying to play music.

Lev kicks one of Yaku’s cymbals for emphasis as they finish the song, then retreats back to the front of the stage as Yaku scrambles to keep the cymbal upright. Damn him. He has to be doing these things on purpose. Well, of course they’re on purpose, but what they really are is Lev getting carried away with the theatrics. Yaku doesn’t have room to complain about it, though. Their shows would probably be pretty boring if Lev never did this sort of thing.

“The _very_ handsome Yaku Morisuke on drums, everyone,” Kuroo says. There’s a loud roar from the crowd, and Yaku taps his foot on the pedal of his kick drum in acknowledgement. He doesn’t bother with much more than that. He’s never really cared much for Kuroo’s introductions. At this point, Kuroo always tries to say the kind of things that will get Yaku riled up, like calling him handsome on stage in front of hundreds of people. Yaku has mostly learned to ignore it.

“Haiba Lev on guitar – give it up,” Kuroo continues.

The riff Lev gives in response sounds exalted. Lev, unlike Yaku, basks in the glow of Kuroo’s introduction. Yaku shakes his head and glances down at the set list on the stage just to the left of Yaku’s seat. He twiddles one of his drumsticks between his fingers as he waits for Kuroo to finish introducing the band.

Not to be outdone by Lev, Yamamoto gives a long, too-involved riff when Kuroo introduces him. Kenma’s response to his own name is only a single note, plucked from the third string of his bass. So it goes. They have a concert like this one nearly every night, so none of this is new. It feels familiar, like hearing your friends’ names called in class when the teacher takes roll.

“This next song is called _Spike_ ,” Kuroo finally says. “Let me hear you sing it.”

The song starts with drums, and Yaku gets down to it.

The concert lasts almost a full hour, during which Lev spends the majority hovering around Yaku. He’s been doing that often lately. Even Kenma gets fed up with his flailing so close and steps forward and off to the right to get out of his way. Yaku wonders if something is on Lev’s mind to make him stick so close to Yaku. Yaku can’t fathom what that would be, though.

Yaku stretches his shoulders as they walk offstage. His upper body is in pretty good shape, playing as he does each night, but it’s worth it to stretch and make sure he’s not going to end up sore tomorrow.

The air backstage is cooler than out in the main hall, and Yaku takes a deep breath of it. He runs a hand through his hair, then recoils at the feel of it soaked in sweat. Lev bounds through the door after him, that grin still on his face.

“Hey,” Yaku says. “I told you not to step on my drums.”

“Oh, right,” Lev says. He smacks his palm against his forehead lightly. “I forgot.”

“You didn’t forget. You just like to push my buttons.”

“Sorry, Yaku-san!”

By way of apology, Lev rushes forwards and traps Yaku in a hug. Yaku squirms, throwing his shoulders this way and that, to struggle out of his grasp.

“You’re sweaty,” Yaku comments.

“So are you,” Lev replies, the vibrations of his voice in his throat against Yaku’s head.

Yaku manages a swift push to Lev’s abdomen, and Lev releases him. He and Yaku stand a foot or so apart, Yaku glaring and Lev looking sheepish and overly innocent. Kuroo pushes between them to stride back to the door.

“Let it go, lovebirds,” Kuroo says. “They’re calling for an encore.”

“Lovebirds?” Yaku asks, frowning.

“Encore?” Lev asks brightly.

“Let’s do _Overboard_ ,” Kuroo tells them. It’s a favorite of Kenma’s, and maybe that’s why Kuroo’s having them play it instead of one of the crowd favorites. He must have noticed Kenma’s positioning as different tonight, what with Lev crowding him out of his usual spot.

Yaku tries not to wonder too much about Kuroo’s “lovebirds” comment, but can’t seem to take his mind off of it, even after he’s sat down behind his drum set again. Lovebirds? It’s not like he and Lev are… _together_ , or something. Kuroo would know, after all. The five of them spend all day cooped up in the same tour bus, so Kuroo has to know that Yaku and Lev aren’t anything more than friends.

Would it be so bad, though? Yaku wonders what kissing Lev would be like. Overly eager and with too much tongue is his guess. And anyway, he shouldn’t think about dating one of his bandmates. What if something went wrong in their relationship? It could ruin the band, ruin their dream. Yaku carefully puts aside any forming desires he may have had and focuses his attention on his drums.

Lev is still hanging near Yaku even as they play this final song of the night. Kenma is sticking closer to Kuroo as a result, which puts him up further on the stage and in fuller view of the crowd. Yaku frowns, knowing Kenma doesn’t like that. Kuroo throws an arm around Kenma’s shoulder and bends towards him as he sings.

“Lev!” Yaku shouts warningly, noting the language of Lev’s body that says he’s going to do something ridiculous. If he puts another foot on this drum set…!

Lev circles around behind Yaku’s drums and stands close to Yaku while he plays. Yaku’s shoulders raise uncomfortably. He isn’t used to people being behind him while he plays – it makes him feel crowded, like he doesn’t have room to move his arms the right way because if he does he might throw an elbow he didn’t mean to throw. The sound of Lev’s guitar is a little louder in

“Smile, Yaku-san!” Lev says, shouting over the noise of their instruments and the long note Kuroo is holding. “Have fun! They asked for an encore!”

Lev is bent over to talk in Yaku’s ear, and it makes it easy enough for Yaku to slam a well-timed elbow into Lev’s ribs. Lev stumbles back a step, but then laughs before moving out in front of Yaku’s drums again.

That kid is hopeless.

They finish the song, and afterwards, Yaku stands on his seat and tosses his drumsticks out into the crowd. Lev is there with a hand outstretched to help him down. Yaku takes it and hops down deftly.

There’s a towel backstage that Yaku uses to scrub what he can of the sweat out of his hair, and Yaku tugs at his shirt to fan cool air over his damp torso. A couple of their tour crew guys go out to gather their instruments and equipment, and Yaku decides now is as good a time as any to run and use the bathroom, while the fans are still caught up buying merch and meeting up with friends they’d lost in the crush of people. He slips out of the room backstage towards the bathrooms he saw in the hallway when they’d come in earlier.

After Yaku is done using the bathroom, he goes to grab his things – a jacket and a small bag – from the room backstage, and finds it empty of his bandmates. They must have already gone out to the bus. Yaku shrugs and makes his way out of the building.

Yaku spots Kuroo and Kenma standing behind the bus, smoking cigarettes. Kuroo glances up at Yaku, but doesn’t say anything to him. It’s something Kenma and Kuroo do after every concert, smoking together. You’d think someone like Kuroo would have been the one to corrupt Kenma into smoking, but the truth is, Kenma has smoked even longer than Kuroo has, mostly for his nerves rather than anything else. Yaku is almost certain that Kuroo picked up the habit just so Kenma wouldn’t be alone when he went out to smoke. Yaku doesn’t like it, the smoking. Kenma smoking has always seemed… well, for some reason, Yaku has always harped on him to stop doing it, probably because Yaku feels like he needs to protect Kenma and smoking _is_ dangerous, in the long run. And the smoking isn’t good for Kuroo’s voice, as Yaku reminds him every few days when he catches Kuroo with a lit cigarette between his lips. Most nights, however, it isn’t worth the battle, and tonight is one of those.

Yaku gives up on telling them off before he even tries. As Yaku makes his way to the front of the bus, he discovers Yamamoto leaning against the side of tour bus, talking loudly with a pair of girls – he’s always angling to get with some of them, but it’s rare that he actually does. Kuroo has the most luck with groupies out of all of them. They naturally flock to Kuroo, after all, as the lead singer, and as handsome as Kuroo is. If Kuroo were to come around to the front of the bus now, those girls would drop poor Yamamoto in a heartbeat. Yaku shakes his head and opens the door of the tour bus, lifting his foot high to place it on the lowest step.

With the door of the tour bus shut behind him, Yaku finally has peace and quiet. He takes a deep inhale. The bus smells like always, like five dudes crammed into a converted charter bus, which is not exactly a _pleasant_ smell but it is _familiar_ and oddly comforting, like the smell of home. Yaku strips off his shirt, which is soaked with sweat, and heads towards the back of the bus to lie down on his bunk.

There’s the muffled feeling in his ears that always comes after spending so much time bathed in the cacophony of live, amplified rock music. He should start wearing earplugs or something, maybe, or he risks running himself into deafness decades before his time. Yaku stretches out on his bed, flat on his back, keeping his limbs spread away from his body so he doesn’t trap the excess of body heat against his skin. Yaku lets his eyes droop closed to enjoy the momentary silence. It’s going to be broken when one of his bandmates gets back on this bus, so he may as well savor it.

It doesn’t last long – he should have known. There’s the sound of the tour bus door opening and footsteps on the stairs, then the door closing. Based on the sound of the footsteps and the length of the strides, it can only be –

“Yaku – uh, Morisuke,” Lev’s voice says above him.

Yaku’s eyes open and his gaze rests on Lev’s face. Lev’s eyes are wide and green and – sort of pretty, honestly. Yaku tries not to think that way about his friends, about his bandmates, but he can’t stop the thought before he has it. “What is it, Lev?”

“Uh – good show, right?” Lev says.

“Yeah,” Yaku replies. “They asked for an encore.”

This is the part where Lev grins and dives onto his own bed, strips down to his boxers to cool off, babbles at Yaku with his face half-pressed to his pillow. But Lev doesn’t do any of those things. He stays hovering over Yaku’s bed, seeming drained of a little of his usual vitality.

“Hey, Morisuke?” Lev asks. He shifts from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable.

“What?”

“Do you think – ” Lev starts, then stops. He opens his mouth again, closes it, opens it again. “Do you think Kuroo really thinks we’re _lovebirds?_ ”

Yaku tenses. He’d almost forgotten about that himself. “Um,” Yaku says, “why?”

“Because – ” Lev stammers. “B-because I – uh, Morisuke, I – ”

“Spit it out, Lev,” Yaku says, but his blood is running cold in his veins and it feels like his heart is pumping twice as hard as it should. Lev looks nervous, uncomfortable even, and that’s not like him. Something must be really wrong, like maybe he’s going to say “stay away from me, because I’m not _like that_ ” or something, or…

Lev abandons words, and instead leans down towards Yaku clumsily. With his hands on either side of Yaku’s torso on the bed to support himself, Lev presses his lips to Yaku’s.

Yaku’s eyes droop closed reflexively. He kisses back without thinking about it, or maybe willfully pushes thoughts out of his head in order to not overthink things for once, just kisses Lev like kissing anyone else. He doesn’t think about how if things go wrong it could ruin the band, the one they’ve worked so hard together in to make themselves a success. He doesn’t think about how Kuroo had been right, doesn’t think about how all of this will work out after this kiss. But he does think about Lev hovering near him, about Lev winking at him over Yaku’s drum set, about Lev’s hand helping him down from his chair after throwing his drumsticks and Lev hugging him after their set and the way Lev’s lips feel against his now. It’s not overly eager, and there’s not too much tongue, like Yaku imagined. Instead, it’s soft and sweet and patient, things that Lev mostly is not. His kiss feels good, and it’s startlingly easy for Yaku to lose himself in. Yaku lifts a hand and places it on the back of Lev’s neck, holding him there.

After a minute, Lev pulls away, propping himself up over Yaku with his elbows locked. “Morisuke,” he says.

“Lev,” Yaku replies.

“You kissed me back.”

“Yes, I did.”

Lev pauses for a moment, studying Yaku’s face. “Do you like me?”

“Do _you_ like _me?_ ” Yaku responds.

“Yeah,” Lev admits. He looks everywhere but Yaku’s face while he speaks. “I really like you. I want to kiss you, like, all the time. I can’t stop thinking about it.” With these last words, he lets his gaze lock on Yaku’s.

“You’re…” Yaku says. “So _that’s_ why you keep stepping on my drum set. You wanted to be close to me.”

Lev hesitates, then says, “Yeah.”

“You’re so stupid, Lev,” Yaku says fondly.

Lev looks hurt for a moment, but Yaku scrambles up to sit on the edge of his bed with Lev standing between Yaku’s spread legs, and the hurt expression is replaced with one of surprise. Yaku reaches up, grabs Lev’s shirt, and pulls Lev down to kiss him. Lev makes a small noise against Yaku’s mouth, and lifts his hands to hold Yaku’s face in his hands while they kiss. Yaku keeps his hand knotted in Lev’s shirt and kisses Lev with little regard for anything else.

“A- _ha!_ ” Kuroo’s voice calls suddenly. “Lovebirds!”

When they leap away from each other, Yaku hits his head on the bottom of Yamamoto’s bunk above his and Lev falls on his ass in the aisle with a yelp. Yaku pokes his head out to look at Kuroo, walking towards them from the front of the bus with Kenma and Yamamoto in tow.

“Shut up, Kuroo!” Yaku yells.

Kuroo shrugs with his mouth twisted in a wide, sly grin, and Lev picks himself up from the floor rubbing his bruised tailbone. “We all knew it was coming, Yaku,” Kuroo says. “Well, everyone knew but you, I guess.”

As soon as Kuroo is in range, Yaku delivers a swift backhanded slap to Kuroo’s stomach, hard enough to make him double over.


End file.
